Page 57 of Men in Shorts

“Yes.” Fergus’s breath came in short gasps. God, he was getting so close, so fast…

“Right now.”

“Yes!” Fergus thrust again, then stopped when he realized what John had just said.Wait, what?

John stopped too, staring at Fergus. “Really?” He glanced at the empty box of condoms on the bed beside them, then nodded and reached for the lube. “Aye, why not?”

A surge of panic shot through Fergus, swamping his desire. He blocked John’s hand. “What are you doing?”

* * *

John caughthis breath at Fergus’s foreboding tone. He hadn’t really been asking to go bareback—it was more of a heat-of-the-moment utterance. But he’d beenmeaningto ask for it since the end of their previous box of condoms. “Don’t you think it’s time?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.” Fergus curled his legs up, his knees forming a barrier between himself and John. “Is this why you didn’t buy condoms? Because you wanted to stop using them?”

“Of course not.” The accusation stung—perhaps because it wasn’t completely absurd. “You think I’d do that?”

“Not on purpose,” Fergus said, but turned his face away as if he had his doubts.

John fidgeted with the edge of the fleece football blanket, the one their flatmate had made for them, stitching together the blankets John and Fergus had each owned for over a decade, dedicated to their archrival football clubs. Every time he touched the blanket, John thought of all he and Fergus had overcome to be together. Nothing would ever come between them again. Not family, not ex-lovers—not even football.

Now he wanted the last barrier between them gone for good.

John shifted up to lie beside Fergus. “Can we talk about it, though?” He hated to leave his boyfriend unsatisfied, but finishing him off now might seem manipulative. So instead he put a tentative arm over Fergus’s chest. “Please?”

Fergus turned over with a sigh and rested a hand on John’s hip. “Go on, then. Talk.”

John took a deep breath. “We’ve been together five months, living together for three. We’re as committed as we can be.” For now, at least—Scottish same-sex marriages wouldn’t start for nine weeks, on New Year’s Eve.

“That doesn’t mean it’s safe.” Fergus drifted his thumb over John’s waist. “Loads of committed people give each other HIV. I read somewhere that it’s the most common source of new infections these days—allegedly monogamous couples where one person’s cheating.”

John felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart. “You think I’ll cheat on you?”

“No.”

“You think you’ll cheat on me?”

“No!” Fergus repeated—but with much more conviction, which told John all he needed to know.

This was about Evan. Fergus’s ex-boyfriend had ditched him last spring after a four-year relationship, leaving the country with another man he’d been seeing for months. Evan had returned in July, repentant, and was once again playing for their all-LGBT football club, the Woodstoun Warriors.

Despite the team’s reconciliation, the name “Evan Hollister” was still never mentioned in a non-football context. Not between Fergus and John. Not even amongst their friends.

Which meant John dared not bring up Evan now, when Fergus was already edgy.

“I’m sorry,” Fergus whispered, then gave John a soft kiss. “I must seem a complete loon.”

“It’s all right. Really.” John let his hand drift forward over Fergus’s abs, wanting to demonstrate, in the most concrete way possible, how much he loved and accepted his neurotic boyfriend.

Fergus jerked and coughed out a laugh. “That tickles.” He took John’s hand off his waist, then kissed it. “I need to head to work.”

John lay his head on Fergus’s pillow and watched him dress. He considered dropping the condom matter, but knew if they ended the conversation on a negative note, it would be twice as hard to raise the topic again later. He felt bad enough for ruining their Thursday morning come-fest by introducing the sensitive subject.

Instead of changing said subject, he shifted it in a more positive direction. “I’ve never not used condoms. Is it very different without them?”

Fergus gave a crooked smile, to John’s relief. “I’ll not lie, it’s quite a bit better, especially for whoever’s the top.” Fergus drew a cream-colored dress shirt from the wardrobe and slipped his arms into the sleeves. “But even bottoming it’s different. It makes you feel…closer.”

Fergus’s eyes clouded over as he buttoned his shirt, no doubt at the illusion of feeling close to someone who’d been cheating on him for months—and apparently putting his life and health at risk as well.

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